


shame

by moonlightatday



Series: GBG/BBS One Shots [8]
Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Other, Still not sure, but neither of them actually happen, kind of like a journal entry, mentions of death and murder, mentions of violence against women, possible ted bundy inaccuracies, ted bundy tw, that could be triggering i don't know, that could be upsetting to some, that's not a tag i ever thought i'd write but here we are, there is a part you could read as internalized homophobia but read it however you want, there's nothing graphic i promise, wasn't sure to put this as teen or mature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 11:16:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20063134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlightatday/pseuds/moonlightatday
Summary: he did something bad.





	shame

**Author's Note:**

> ok so basically? i started writing this as a joke on tumblr but it spread into something more. it's mostly unedited and lowercase is intentional. enjoy?

“what’s a hobby of yours?” my new therapist asks on our first session.

“sitting on the living room floor at 4 am, feeling nothing but whatever the opposite of hubris is and a longing for a long lost love i’ve never had,” i say, fiddling with my hands in my lap.

my therapist looks at me for a few seconds, an indifferent stare burning holes in my forehead. she returns to her clipboard, checking a box or two before returning my gaze. “by ‘the opposite of hubris,’ do you mean shame?”

“perhaps. i’m not one to define my emotions.” i shrug and stare back at the floor. my therapist sighs, but decides to move on. 

“why do you consider that a hobby?” she asks, her tone not giving away any feelings toward my confession. i can guess the things she wants to say to me but can’t, seeing as this is session is only happening to gather information. i’ve already told my truth; i don’t know what more they want from me.

“i don’t know, doc. i never really do anything other than work,” i say. this is mostly truthful, but sometimes i also spend time with friends. 

it doesn’t matter, anyway. they don’t like me much, and i’ve accepted that. you may think that is sad, and maybe it is. but i don’t think i could ever let anyone love me. it’s fitting.

i’ve never been capable of love. maybe it’s from trauma i can’t remember, or maybe it’s trauma i can remember, hiding in my subconscious disguised as a bad dream or a memory i made up.

i do know i have trauma i couldn’t remember for the longest time. i did this type of therapy, i can’t remember what’s called right now. anyway, it was supposed to help me remember some type of traumatizing experience i had when i was a wee kid. it worked, a bit too well for my comfort.

what i discovered is that apparently my father had abused me for years when i was just an elementary schooler, but he died when i turned 10. and then it was turn for everyone in my school to bully me. how my mom hid this from me for years as i grew up with depression, anxiety, and countless other emotional issues is beyond me. 

almost 20 years later, i was talking to my friend from 2nd grade, and he told me that one day i came to school, crying quietly and i wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened that morning. he asked me if i could remember what happened. i couldn’t tell him. i  _ do _ remember that morning when i got to school, but before that? not a clue what made me so upset.

without the therapy, i do recall moments when my dad was good to me. he taught me a few life lessons i’ve yet to forget. of course, i’ve taken them with a grain of salt because, y’know. he wasn’t a good person. 

i remember this one time, he took me and my little brother to an ice cream shop near the beach. i got a blue moon cone, my brother a chocolate sundae, and my dad a butterscotch waffle cone. we ate outside the shop just as the sun was setting. after we were done eating, our dad let us run all up and down the shoreline. this is the only memory in which i can remember my dad’s face. 

wow, i still call him dad. i normally call him my father because he was just that, my father. he wasn’t my dad. it takes a true man to actually be a dad. still, no matter how much harm he caused me in the first 10 years of my life, i still refer to him as ‘dad’ when i think about the good memories. 

i like to believe not every person is either good or evil. i think every good person has a little evil in them, and every evil person a little good. a prime example of this was my father. he was a terrible man, but he was still good to me and my family when he wasn’t drunk and yelling.

all bad people in history had something happen to them that just made them want to get vengeance or something like that; of course, it doesn’t excuse their actions, but it does give something you can blame the bad on. 

i remember watching this one ted bundy documentary. in the documentary, there was a part where they looked back on his childhood and tried to pick out what happened to him to make him kill so many young women. it’s human nature; we try and try to rationalize one’s actions when we can’t understand why they’d do such a thing, but some people don’t  _ deserve _ rationalization. 

one of these people, in my opinion, is ted bundy. he killed so many young women who had their entire lives ahead of them. they were only just beginning, you know? they deserved more than their life being taken by a man who thought he could get away with anything. 

of course, i’m sure ted bundy was good to someone in his life. he did have a few girlfriends, and if i recall in the documentary, he was good to them. he was good to people as a child, he was good to his parents. but that’s the thing, serial killers are charmers and manipulators, and they’re good at it. deception is the most important part of being a serial killer. it was all an act. still, he was good to someone in his life, even if it was all fake. 

i’ve read various things on the internet calling ted bundy smart, and while it’s true that he was, he wasn’t smart enough. i mean, what kind of  _ dumbass _ tries to orchestrate his own trial when he’s being charged with murder? i guess that was just him; a controlling bastard, a man who needed power over all situations. 

i’m not sure how i normally feel about capital punishment, to be honest, but i do know that if there’s one person who deserved it the most, it was ted bundy. honestly, i do respect his dedication in trying to stay alive, to put off his own execution for so long, but maybe he should have thought about that before murdering countless women. 

i know it’s really not funny, but i laughed when i heard the part about him not being able to remember how many women he killed. for someone so calculated in all his movements, and a serial killer no less, someone who takes pleasure in taking humans lives, it’s amusing to me that he can’t remember all of his kills. i’m not sure what i thought he’d be like, if he’d keep a little journal retelling the details of every murder.

well, i’m not sure what happened to ted bundy to make him take the lives of many. of course he was mentally ill, nobody in their right mind derives pleasure from murder, but i wonder if there’s something we don’t know about him. his actions do not deserve to be justified by something that happened to him that was beyond his control. plenty of people grow up a victim of abuse or mental illness and don’t kill countless people, and nothing that happened to ted bundy excuses his actions.

i try to blame my bad childhood when i do bad things. i know it’s bad, but i do it anyway. like all the times i’ve had to break up with someone because i’m just not capable of loving them. i feel so bad every time, and i want to love them, don’t get me wrong. there’s just something not there, some wire not connected. maybe i’m gay.

huh. thinking about it more, i don’t think i am straight. who knew, right? 

just kidding. haha, funny joke, right?

i’ve felt attraction to the opposite sex, but i can’t love them. i can’t explain it, it’s weird. i really do want to feel love. i want to feel more than just a simple crush on an amazing person who deserves a good love, not a fake one. i couldn’t give them a real love, i just couldn’t. i don’t think i deserve love anyway. not with the stuff i’ve done.

i like to think there’s something right with me, even with all the bad i’ve done, i like to think i’ve made someone smile. whatever helps you sleep at night, right?

well, i’m not trying to make you feel bad about me. earlier, when i mentioned how everyone has good and bad? i like to think i’m neither. i don’t deserve the luxury to define myself as good or bad. 

i mean, i did kill someone. i don’t deserve your pity, even if it was just self defense. i didn’t mean it. i didn’t know i was that strong. please forgive me, god. 

**Author's Note:**

> ok hope it wasn't terrible thx for reading go read my other one shots if you want


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